


Playing House

by dovingbird



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“With your oral fixation, I figured you’d like an excuse to stare at my mouth.” “I will NEVER need an excuse to stare at your mouth. ‘S all I can do to look away.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing House

"Don't do it."  
  
She glanced up in the mirror, lips still pursed. "What?"  
  
"Trust me." Phil flipped the page of her magazine, never once looking up. "It's windy."  
  
Elise chuckled. "You don't know the levels of my vanity yet. Worth it."  
  
"Worth your hair being super-glued to your mouth?"  
  
"Yep." She spread the lip gloss into place and examined the effect. "With your oral fixation, I figured you'd like an excuse to stare at my mouth."  
  
He smirked, wide and mischievous, as he studied the magazine. "I will NEVER need an excuse to stare at your mouth. 'S all I can do to look away."  
  
"You're doing a great job of it now," she teased.  
  
He flicked his eyes up. The second their gazes met in the mirror, he winked.  
  
Elise chuckled again as she inspected her eyeshadow. "You ready?"  
  
Not for the first time he sighed petulantly. "Why do we gotta go out anyway?"  
  
"Because I'm hungry, and if I don't get some food I'm gonna punch you in the face," she said with a smile.  
  
"We got food here."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't feel like cooking." It was a loaded statement that led in only one direction. She eyed Phil in anticipation.  
  
He paused. He considered. And then he flipped the magazine shut. "You want me to cook?"  
  
She fought to hide her beaming smile of triumph. "Oh, were you thinking about it?"  
  
Phil tossed the magazine aside and shrugged. "Well, I mean, we got some stuff, right?"  
  
"Yeah, you're right. Like what?"  
  
He shrugged. "Steaks. I can do steaks." He tugged the sleeves of his flannel shirt up and headed for the door.  
  
Elise waited for a few moments before she did a giddy little dance. She proceeded to flounce after him. "Steaks? Yeah, that's definitely healthy."  
  
He eyed her over his shoulder, eyes glimmering in amusement. "Woman, don't make me take back my cooking offer."  
  
She raised her hands in apology. "My bad."  
  
The apartment was small. It was rather obnoxiously small, actually. But it was theirs, dammit, and that was all that mattered these days. Post-Idol life was more hectic than either of them ever could have imagined, what with tours and meetings with agents and publicity. No matter how much Idol groomed them in preparation, it never seemed quite enough.  
  
The American Idol summer tour was over, however, and that meant the two of them could finally settle down and breathe. It might be for only a weekend, or only a night, or only an hour, but Elise was confident that they could make the best of it.  
  
"If you're so worried about healthy shit," Phil interrupted with a call over his shoulder. "Then you're in charge of the sides."  
  
She chuckled. "I'll make a salad."  
  
They were settling into each other now. They slid around the kitchen without any regard for each other's personal space. Elise touched Phil's hip for balance as she leaned into the pantry. He slid his arms around her to show the proper way to dice bell peppers. It was nice, she decided. She'd missed this.  
  
"Carrots?" she asked.  
  
Phil wrinkled his nose.  
  
"No carrots," she agreed.  
  
Phil took the liberty of gesturing toward the bin of potatoes off to the side.  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"If you don't cover them in butter and salt, I'll do it myself."  
  
He was a Southern boy through and through, she thought with a smile as she went to mashing the respective potatoes. She felt like she managed to escape a lot of that influence somehow. And now that the two of them were quietly sequestered in California, she supposed it wasn't any surprise that his habits were coming out with a vengeance. It was as if they knew they were going to be squelched in the land of the rich and famous unless they asserted themselves.  
  
"Broccoli, then?"  
  
He gave a shrug.  
  
"Steamed?"  
  
He glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"...with butter?"  
  
He grinned. "Now you're learning."  
  
She could get used to this. Playing house. Having a simple, quiet life. But she wondered for how long. Even now, she felt like her skin was stretching too thin, like she was about to burst out of it like a banana.  
  
The wonderful thing was that he understood. He needed the music just as badly as she did. He needed the adrenaline buzz that only performance could give. He needed all of it.  
  
"Done yet?"  
  
"Just a minute," she murmured, frowning in concentration as she smoothed a few strands of hair away from her neck in the midst of destroying the last few lumps in the mashed potatoes. Something warm followed her finger. "Oh, geez, did I get something there?"  
  
"Yep. No surprise." Phil's voice was filled with amusement. "You're the only woman I know who could mess herself up when all she's doing is steaming broccoli and mashing potatoes."  
  
"And making a salad," she reminded him. "Don't forget that."  
  
He chuckled, low and warm, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "So talented," he murmured. His breath brushed the shell of her ear and drew a long, languid shiver down her spine.  
  
"That's enough out of you," she said softly, elbowing him in the gut. "We've got dinner to eat."  
  
"We've got a mess to clean up first." He nuzzled her neck, the touch of his nose barely a whisper.  
  
This was a losing battle before it even started. Her breath caught in her throat as she grabbed his sleeve in a strangled grip, digging her nails into it. "The food will get cold," she whispered, even as her head tilted to the side to bear her neck to him.  
  
"Mmm...they invented microwaves for a reason." He lapped at the food brushed carelessly across her skin and sucked it into his mouth with a soft pop. "And that salad-"  
  
"It can wait," she gasped, pressing tight against him.  
  
He shoved the dishes to the side in one, big, clattering mess and lifted Elise onto the counter, pulling her by the waist into a maddeningly frenzied kiss.  
  
Oh yeah, she thought as she locked her legs around his waist. If this was what playing house was like, she could definitely get used to it.


End file.
